From Dawn, Til Dusk
by LoreSeekerVera
Summary: An introduction to a long, and tragic story of Lore-Seeker Vera, in her attempts to find her place in a war torn home she's never known. Born at the end of the Great War, abandoned by her family, and never knowing her home, can she truly find her own Sovengard? Here, is where her longest journey finally begins, in the historic town of Bruma.
1. Prelude

4th Era, 201, 10th of Last Seed, Sundas.

I don't know why I came to Skyrim. I had never been, maybe that's why. I had trotted around all of Cyrodiil, but I never found Bruma welcoming. It never felt like home. I had grown up so far from the snow, on the golden coasts of Anvil. But there had always been something calling within me. A drive to go home. Maybe that's what drove me here, what drove me to explore. Maybe that's how I earned my title; Lore-Seeker. I don't know. I've spent all my life documenting and exploring tombs, ruins, sites, but not once I've ever thought to document myself. And with the road to Skyrim shut tight, I suppose I have nothing better to do; not like I want to traipse around any of the Ayleid ruins anymore then I already have. Right now, as I write, I'm stuck in a piddly little inn, Olav's Tap and Tack. The original owner has long since passed, and I've been fed rumors that the Hero of Kavatch once rested here, though I doubt it's credibility. Bruma itself is tense, it's main chapel, once devoted to Talos (and it was one of the largest of it's kind outside of Skyrim I believe) has now been turned over to worshipping Martin Septim. Thalmor Agents still patrol the streets, and the whole city seems to tragically depict the strange rantings of Alessia Ottus these days. But despite all this, the tightly closed border, the snow, and even the talk of rebellion in Skyrim, I still feel something call to me…

Vera sighed, shutting her newest journal, and tossed aside her quill. No matter how hard she tried, she always failed to start what she promised herself ages ago. Quietly tucking the journal back into her pack, she returned to watching the candle light dance about the room, hugging her legs to her chest.

"Nobody is going to remember you if you don't leave them anything to remember you by." She muttered allowed, as if trying to drive the point home harder. She knew it was true, after all. How many tombs had she wandered past, never seeing the name of the owner, or a single tell of their exploits? How many caves had she dwelved that could have held some legendary hero, that no story ever told, simply because nothing had ever been written? She laughed faintly, before glancing back at her pack.  
"I am giving Ysgramor grief aren't I? I could probably be the second Nord historian of all of Tamriel, but I can't even tell my own story…" She again, half heartedly mused to herself, before absentmindedly reaching back into her pack for the journal.

I am Vera, the Lore-Seeker. I was born in the Fourth Era, year 176, on the twenty sixth of Evening Star. That was what, more or less, the note on my swaddle read when I was found on the dock in Anvil. I was found there, alone, with no family in sight, on the first of Morning Star. None of the dock workers claimed to have seen a figure that night (though most of them were most likely drunk from a night of celebration of the night prior), nor do they recall any vessel arriving or departing. From there, I was taken to what would be my home for my childhood, the historic Benirus Manor. I've talked in depth before about it's… Colorful history, so I will leave that for another day. It's owner, who would care for me in only a way she could, was known as Nashandra, the Beast Smasher. A strangely Nordic name for an Orsimer, but she was the closest thing I had to a family as I grew.

Her hand shook faintly, and again, Vera closed her journal, and packed it away. How long had it been since she spoke to Nashandra? How long had it been since she'd written to her? Her heart sank, and her eyes shut tightly, in a vain attempt to purge the thought from her mind.

"She's not your mother. She's just some Orc who took you in because nobody else would. She threw you out when you were thirteen, and she locked you in the basement occasionally to 'toughen you up'." She thought, loudly, as she rearranged her shoddy bedding, tucking herself under the scratchy blankets.

"Not tonight. No more of this tonight." She half choked out, from under the blankets, and behind tears that had welled up in her eyes. "No more of this until we reach Skyrim…". The rest of the night slowly carried on, sounds from the tavern bellow slowly dying down, until only the crackle from the fire beneath could be heard. But even as the embers died, she laid awake, still watching the slowly dying light of the candle dance around the room. When she slept, dawn was only a scant few hours away. But this was, tragically, the norm for Vera. Nights spent in dangerous caves, crypts, and ruins was never going to go well for her health.


	2. Chapter One, First Steps

The next day, when she awoke with the sun, she made haste, waking in a flurry, her hand reflexively flying to her pack, gripping the hilt of a well loved pommel of an axe, before releasing it after a moment passed. The blankets were flung to the side of the bed, clothing was stripped and exchanged for warmer layers, and were covered in furs and leathers. Her messy mane was pulled back into an almost as messy ponytail, and her pack was back to it's well familiar home on her back. She had a schedule to keep, after all. More meetings with the Legionnaires at the border, a long walk up the Jeralls, with snow and wind most likely being her traveling companion. Before making her way out of the old inn, she grabs a loaf of bread from the bar, and tosses a couple septims down, before finally heading out into the streets.

Mondas was a quiet time in Bruma, with most of the local Nords most likely still enjoying the warmth of their beds, nursing hangovers from the weeks end. Snow had just begun to fall, though that hardly seemed out of place amongst the cold carved stone walls and squat shacks of the street. She made her way quietly from the lowest side of Bruma, up into the plaza of the Chapel. A few scant people were milling about, most likely the more Cyrodiilic citizens of the town, eager to get in some early prayers before their day started. Among the few, quiet fur clad wanderers, stood the tall, bold faced winners of the Great War. Clad in their dark black and golden edged robes, the Thalmor Agents made no effort to blend into the native backdrop of the Jeralls. Vera looked away from them quickly, and took a quick bite from her loaf, before starting quickly up towards the northern gate, doing her best to keep her eyes away from the Altmer. Anyone who was eager to get into Skyrim, was under heavy suspicion, double so for any proud Nord. She hoped that she could make it to the border again- her first time being turned away for not having proper paperwork filled out- without having to run the risk of interrogation. But, as she reached the steps leading up out of the chapels plaza, a voice broke the silence.

"Well well, a new face in this end of Cyrodiil? At such early hours, and not attending an early service at that. Turn around, if you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear." The voice called out, almost taunting the still silence of the early morning. The voice of what she had been taught was the voice of an indifferent, uncaring conqueror. She turned, almost too quickly, and did her best to relax herself, only to find she was face to chest with the Thalmor. The tall Altmer looked down at her, his hand casually resting on his sheathed saber, as if waiting for an excuse to draw it.  
"Ah, sorry… I've just got an appointment to keep. Paperwork that needs to get delivered, you know how Imperials are.." She forced out a laugh, breaking her eye contact occasionally glancing at the saber, then at the other Thalmor, who were watching from a distance. She was bad at being a people person, or a Mer person. To her credit, most of the "people" she spoke with were dead, or undead. The Altmer looked her over, then smiled, before offering his free hand.  
"If it's paperwork, then I'd be happy to take that off your hands and deliver it for you. I'm sure the Count's men will know what to do with it." As he spoke, he glanced towards the northern gate, before continuing, smiling wider, in the same manner a snake would, knowing it's trapped it's prey. "Unless of course, the documents in question are for seeking passage into Skyrim. Because as any good citizen of the Empire knows, those mudslinging troglodytes are trying to start up Talos worship again. And we can't have anyone doing that, now can we?"  
She was stuck. What was she supposed to do? Willingly align herself with the talk of war in Skyrim? The Thalmor didn't care whether who they captured were innocent at the time they snatched them, they'd find some way to implicate them in the end. She shut her eyes, before reaching quickly into her pack, and pulled out the forms the Legionnaire had given her for passage into Skyrim, along with the sum of gold required to cover the cost. She handed them over, her mind racing wildly, trying to think of some reasonable explanation as to why she wanted to get into Skyrim. But before she knew it, she was already speaking.

"I am seeking passage into Skyrim, but for matters purely of historical nature. I'm sure an Elf of your stature knows the value of such archeological explorations, and what better place to continue my work then in the earliest site of man in Tamriel?" Her words spoke fast, and struck like an arrow, as the Altmer looked the slightest bit taken aback, before quickly composing himself, and began looking over the papers in silence. He frowned, and then glanced back at her, before handing her back both the gold and the paperwork, before turning to leave.  
"... Of course I do. I… Just did not expect such level of… Education and scholarliness to come from a Nord. Be on your way then." He waved her off, but still stood firmly in place, watching her like a hawk and she stowed her goods and made her way towards the gate.

The Silver Road outside the walls was just as quiet as the city itself, snow still softly drifting from the heavens above. She strode deftly up the path, her eyes fixed on her prize. Though she seemed focused and keen to enter Skyrim, deep within her, she still didn't understand why it was so important that she did. Was what she told the Altmer true? Or was there something else driving this journey. As her mind wandered, so too did her eyes, watching the peaks of the Jeralls, tracing their ridges to the east. Birds began to take flight as the sun trickled further up the far Valus mountains to the east, and other animals began to emerge as well. Was this what she sought? To reconnect to her roots? She shook her head faintly, and turned her eyes back to the road. The border wasn't too far off now, and perhaps this time she could find whatever it was her heart sought in Skyrim soon enough. She soon arrived at the the first of many ancient and repurposed Imperial forts, now housing a stock of Imperials much similar to those who built it. Broken, battered by war, and longing to go home, the soldiers watched her approach half heartedly. None rose to approach her, most of them gathered around what fires were burning, while the Nords amongst them only gave her a wavering nod. Cyrodiil, and her people, were still aliling from their wounds both of body and of mind, and now with talk of war to the north, their spirits too were finally breaking.

Finally, she reached her first stop. A Legate stood, several paces away from the gate bordering Skyrim. Archers stood, mostly facing the north, looking weary and tired. The Legate, a tall, brawny Orc, with half her face obscured by horrible burns and scars, watched her with mild interest. It was the same one who had sent her away on her last approach.  
"Back so soon Nord? Maybe with paperwork instead of a bribe? We had bets on whether we'd find you crawling back up here begging, or if we'd catch you trying to cross at some other point." She barked out, a smirk creeping across her face. Vera, not wanting to be thrown under the cart completely, let a small sigh out, and smiled back to her first real obstacle.

"No Ma'am, the nearest pass that isn't controlled by the Empire is controlled by bandits… And I'd rather pay out of pocket here and not get gutted." She called out, still making her way up the hill to the Osimer.

"No, I thought I'd just do as you suggested… I have the forms and the sum to cover my entry."  
As she drew closer, careful not to startle any archer with a "incriminating movement", as she learned all guards loved to call it, she removed her pack from its place, set it down, and began rummaging through it. The Osimer watched, arms folded, scrutinizing her with her one good eye, but still maintained a relaxed posture. The papers were finally pulled out of the pack, along with the exact amount of gold, and Vera stood and passed them along to her.  
"I know that I'm not going to be the only guest at your gate today, so I figured I would do the best I could to make it easy for you. After all, you did give me a task. And Lore-Seeker Vera doesn't shirk from her duties." She smiled, fixing her pack back to it's regular position, waiting eagerly for a response.  
"Yes, well, I usually don't see a Nord so eager to fill out papers and books. But all this… Seems to be in order" the Orc muttered back, motioning for another soldier to take the scroll and pouch, before turning back to her.  
"Last time you were up here, you didn't have a reason for entry to that frozen wasteland your people call home. So tell me, why are you going to Skyrim."  
Vera paused, before looking down the mountains she scaled, past Bruma, past the Imperial City, towards the western coast. She looked their for a time, before turning back with a shrug.  
"I suppose I want to know what it's like. Besides… I hear the mead is nice this time of year."


	3. Chapter Two, And Seven Thousand More

4th Era, 201, 12th of Last Seed, Tirdas.

I didn't know what to expect, walking through those gates. I had read books, seen paintings, heard stories. I had been to Bruma, I assumed it would be no different then seeing the Jeralls from that side. But from the moment I walked through those gates, that faint thing in the back of my mind that had been calling to me all this time? It felt stronger than ever. I was…. Excited. I hadn't felt such excitement since I had a chance to try and locate the long lost tomb of an ancient pirate king near Hammerfell. But after that initial flood of excitement ebbed away, all it left in its place were more questions. I was here. I was in Skyrim! But that call, that longing, it wasn't gone. It was still stuck inside me, still pulling at my heart, trying to take me somewhere. But this wasn't Cyrodiil anymore. It wasn't the rolling golden hills and beaches of Anvil. Sure, we had our own bandits and brigands, maybe even a vampire or assassin camped out in a cave. But I didn't know much beyond the written history of this foreign home. I hadn't cosoluted with other Nords, talked to merchants, or even bought a damn travelers guide that was from this era! I walked into the middle of a country tearing at the seams on a whim, because I couldn't not follow my heart. And I fear I may be stuck here until this war ends.

Vera shut her journal, and glared at the once glorious landscape in front of her. The first day in had been a blur of excitement, of exploration, of wonder, which had all soured faster than a jug of milk left out in the Elsweyr sun. In her joy of it all, she found herself far off the beaten trail into the nearest town, and was lost, alone, and exhausted. Best as she could tell, she wasn't close to anything on her map, the nearest city or town been a Helgen. She, however, was stuck in a mountainous forest, surrounded by rain, wolves, and misery. She carefully stoked a pitiful fire, kept partially dry by the cliff overhang above her, and threw her things off beside it in a half hearted attempt to dry them out. Her map was soaked, along with several of her books, and her blanket. She had not thought of procuring more rations in Bruma, having only had the loaf of bread she snagged on her way out the entire day prior. While water was in plenty, food was not, and even if it was, she'd have to chase it down herself, as she had now bow in hand.  
"You've gotten out of worse… Even if this was completely avoidable." She snarled, kicking rocks, and cursing to herself as she attempted to wring out her soaked hair.  
"All I've got to do is just hold out this storm, dry off, and keep heading north until I hit a road, or a town or… Anything. I'll take a tomb or a cave at this point." As if to argue against her plan, her stomach gurgled in protest. She swore at the sky again, and slumped herself against the wall, sliding down, and into her natural stature, hugging her legs tightly, glaring into the fire. Bravil had been bad, Leyawiin was bad, Blackwood had been bad. Nearly dying in the Ayleid ruins near Cheydinhal was pretty high up on her list of bad things, but this took the cake. This had no place even happening, she had no real reason to even be here, beside some stupid tug of the heart, longing for home. Wasn't Anvil enough for her? She could go back, settle down. She could have tossed out all these pointless ideas, written more books and even bought the damn manor back. But no, she was lost in Skyrim, potentially walking into a war.

The day carried on, and so did the rain. Little before sundown, just as she had finished drying out her gear, the rain finally pittered out, leaving her free to finally leave her make-do camp, and at least start to get a better grip on her surroundings. Judging by what was still legible on her map, she couldn't be too far from Helgen. Maybe it was just beyond the ridge. As she wandered, this time keep careful mental notes of where she was going, she began to creep up and over the few hills that dotted the land. She was still bitter about it all, but by the gods, the landscape was still as breathtaking as the day previous. The massive mountains surrounded the land, and off in the distance she found her first true landmark, the Throat of the World. It was taller then she had ever imagined, or could have ever guessed, but more importantly, it was a way of figuring out where she was now. She rushed back to her camp, grabbing what little she had, and made back for the hill, and waited. As the sun slowly sun beneath the mountains, and finally disappeared, she peered into the horizon, and waited. And sure enough, something finally caught her eye, over the trees, past the gloom, fire. A light, a torch, or even a watchtower. But it was something. She let a weary grin creep across her face, and started to make her way down the hill, towards the faint light in the distant, the promise of a warm bed, warm drink, and most importantly, warm food, filling her head. Maybe Skyrim wasn't going to be that bad after all.


	4. Chapter Three, The Growing Storm

4th Era, 201, 13th of Last Seed, Middas.

After my brief… Detour into the wilderness of Skyrim, I did finally arrive at the nearby border town of Helgen. The attitude here is tense, to say the least. The entire town is occupied by Imperial troops, from the tall walls, to the entire keep turned garrison. I've even managed to catch glimpses of General Tulius himself. Despite the assurances of many of the guards and Legionnaires themselves, I'm not getting any warm and sunny vibes that I felt back home in Anvil. I don't think I'll be staying here long. Heavy Imperial presence just feels like a powder keg ready to go off.

As she wrote, she glanced up from her spot on the inn's porch, watching a large battalion of soldiers break away from the group, mount carriages and horses, and make for the northern gate. She continue watching them until the they leave the gate, and sighs, shutting her journal, her train of thought gone. The air in Helgen was heavy, the local Nords were cautious of the heavy Imperial presence, almost visibly opposed to it. Likewise, none of the non-Nordic Legionnaires or officers seemed to have much respect for the people they were occupying. She had noticed at one end of the town that a chopping block had been set up, and nobody knew why, leading to more rumors being spread, and the increasing strain between the two groups. Shaking her head, and picking up her flagon of mead off the nearby table, her eyes returning to watching the clouds slowly drift across the sky. It seemed inevitable, that there was no way she was going to avoid this conflict forever, that sooner or later she'd find herself caught in the middle. But, she could delay it, if she was lucky enough. Maybe just another night in Helgen, before she took off for a new destination, hopefully further away from the growing storm.

"You there! Nord. We've got a few questions for you." A gruff voice called out from across the road. She set down her flagon, and glanced over, tensing up as an Imperial Officer started making his way towards her. Awkwardly, she gestured to herself, looking around for another Nord they could be talking to, and upon finding none, started to stand.

"You… Mean me, right? I'd be uh, happy to answer any questions you have for-" She was caught mid sentence by an armored gauntlet fist to her gut, completely knocking the wind out of her, and bringing her to her knees on the ground.

"Yes you, what other Nord who just so happened to arrive into town would we want to talk to?" He ended his sentence with a solid kick to her ribs, knocking her completely prone to the ground. As she struggled to get to her feet, she tried to protest.  
"What have I done wrong? I don't understand why you're doing this to me?"

"You aren't fooling anyone you Stormcloak bastard. Showing up out of nowhere? Playing dumb, asking questions about where troops are going? I knew you Nords were stupid, but not this stupid." Another kick brought her back to her knees, coughing. She stayed down this time, but kept speaking, trying to explain.  
"I just crossed the border and got lost..! I have all the forms for entry..! I'm from Anvil!"

She was dragged up by the officer, now three other soldiers had gathered around, their weapons drawn, as she was shoved against the wall, face first.

"Oh I'm sure you were. You can show those 'papers' you have to us in the brig." She felt ropes tighten around her wrists, before getting spun around, and pushed off the porch, nearly falling in the process. The soldiers grabbed her things, and lead her by sword towards the castle turned garrison.


End file.
